Afterparty
by antiquated-sorceress
Summary: "Anyway, Danny's having an afterparty and your pack is going. And the twins, so you can do the whole 'I'm going to make sure my pack is safe' excuse. I'm sure Danny won't mind a visit from Miguel." Stiles gets a hard smack on his shoulder and laughs as he cradles it. "But really, dude. You've had a hard few months, and you died recently, so you could use a good unwinding."


Among the crowd is Peter, and next to him, Derek. Deucalion is still MIA, not having returned to his apartment in weeks, but the last major lacrosse game ended in a death for one of Derek's wolves. At the incredulous smiles of the pack upon his implication that he'd be present at the game, Derek insisted that he refused to let the violence come one step closer to a pattern.

The game is tense, to say the least. Scott, Boyd, Isaac, and the twins are wound up from recent wolf events and less than up to par, and seeing as they're the players the rest of the team tends to rely on, the team is nervous as well.

Ethan and Aiden have struck a tentative alliance with the Hale and McCall packs after Kali left to round up her own pack to sic onto Deucalion. She and Ennis were mates, Ethan explained later. After Kali left, Deucalion noticed that the twins had grown too bitter after the packs had told them about Ennis, and Deucalion had regarded the twins as especially useless after becoming too invested in their respective playthings to obey him any longer.

Deucalion had in turn gone after Aiden and Ethan to build up his own power. Scott had by then ignored Isaac's insistence to kill the twins together and reasoned to keep watch on them, so the packs were were ready when Deucalion arrived to kill the twins. Deucalion had tsked and sighed, creepily calm, when he saw that he had two packs and two alpha twins against him, and had made a speech and then escape as dramatic as it could be without spontaneous strikes of lightning. (At the following meeting to discuss where the packs stood with Aiden and Ethan, Stiles mused that "Thor must have been tired of Duke's shit.") Cora, Derek and Peter had rolled their eyes so hard at Deucalion's exit that Boyd said he almost wanted to check for stray eyeballs on the ground on his way out.

At the same pack meeting, Derek shook his head at the news of Kali and reasoned that she had no chance against Deucalion, not with the demon wolf fiasco. (Stiles had doubled over with giggles and snorts when Derek explained it. At Derek's resulting glare, Stiles assured the laughter wasn't for the impaling-only for Deucalion having a bigger drama queen complex than Derek himself.)

The game now in full-throttle, Aiden misses another pass to a player knocking him over. Stiles chews on the net of his lacrosse stick back at the bench.

"Coach, let me play!" he yells to Finstock, only to have Coach say, "Better than those guys?" and laugh. Stiles's attempts to remind Finstock that Stiles won a decisive game last year leads to Coach blowing the whistle in his face again. Stiles growls open-mouthed in Finstock's face (Derek looks on with pride) and sits down to cup his face in his hands. "I really fucking hate you," Stiles mumbles with contained fury into his palms. Finstock is back to his own seat and deaf to the words.

"Yeah, that's it," Stiles decides, and leaves his helmet on the bench to pull his own hat out from under his seat. He initially saw it in a store with Scott and gravitated to it immediately. The half wolf face, ears, and faux fur beckoned him, and he laughed a little maniacally under his breath when he picked it up and set it on his own head. Scott rolled his eyes when Stiles put his hands into the mittens and did a Salsa shimmy.

Stiles bought the hat in respect to the gods of irony, seeing as he's one of the few humans in the pack, and planned on using it to cheer on Scott at training sessions when the wolves have their usual races. Stiles had forgotten about it since then, but today he rediscovered it hanging in his closet as he fished out a shirt. He shoved it in his lacrosse bag with the memory of how tense the wolves were for the past few weeks, and Stiles couldn't think of a better debut for it than now.

"What's Stiles doing?" Allison asks Lydia, who follows her eyes to the bench where Stiles is doing ludicrous dance moves and cheering for Beacon Hills. The crowd of mostly home supporters have died down their cheers, replaced mostly by "OH!"s when a player in red is knocked over or misses a pass. Stiles's shouts are just about audible in the night. They come to his side when he waves them over and pull out their phones when he asks for them. Stiles takes Allison's and punches in a Youtube search, and has Lydia doing the same.

Stiles turns again and says Derek's name under his breath. Derek's eyes are already on him, eyes narrowed in confusion. "Does your phone have Youtube?" he asks. Derek shakes his head.

"Mine does, because unlike you, I actually know what century we live in," Peter quips. He holds up his phone to Stiles. "What do you want?" he mouths to Stiles, and gives a pleased "mm" when Stiles names the song. He nods to Stiles and pulls up the video onto his phone.

"Wait for my signal," Stiles tell him, and calls to his dad and Melissa.

Time out. The game's end begins to loom over them. The team's huddle is interrupted by a sudden outpouring of "Run This Town" from the bleachers.

The rest of the spectators reflect the puzzlement of the teams. Isaac traces the song to multiple points in the crowd, the biggest concentration of sound coming from Stiles, Lydia and Allison, who are sing along. The latter two laugh at Stiles's dance moves, which look like a bastardized dance mix of Big Time Rush, the Pussycat Dolls, and Lil Wayne. "Stilinski's on crack," Greenberg calls out. Stiles lets out a hoot when Lydia and Allison join his routine. "And he shared it with those two."

Stiles's lips are moving. Scott tunes in to hear Stiles take a break from the song and murmur under his breath a new one consisting of, "Wolfy wolfies, kick their mediocre asses. Yeah, mothafuckin wolfies."

Stiles catches their eyes and exaggerates his body roll, pointing to them as his face contorts with a soulful rendition of Run This Town again. Isaac nods toward the rival team. "Smell that?" he asks. "Anxiety." Some of the students and parents have caught on and screech along. Peter, side-bobbing his head, is among them.

Peter breaks his singing. "You know," he thinks aloud to Derek, "I find it hilariously ironic that you've been roaming along in the 21st century and probably type haltingly with 2 fingers, while I've been living paraplegic for the greater part of the last 6 years and could make a living working in an Apple store." Derek pointedly keeps his attention in front, his goal the field, but his eyes keep wandering to Stiles. "Even more ironic is that I have my shit together, while you probably still cry when Timmy falls down the well. Not to mention there's that little detail of you having a permanent hard-on for a spastic 17-year-old." Derek glowers at him. "Oh, don't be like that. You swirling in your own guilt makes me want to chuck on a few rival players. You think he stops by your loft so much just because he wants to keep his best friend safe? Don't fool yourself. You know he spends too much time alone with you to not want to be your Lolita." Down at the bench, Stiles laughs joyfully and gives a, "YEAH!" as the crowd becomes louder and more aggressive with the singing.

"It's dangerous," Derek counters.

"For who? He's with you so much he's starting to reek of you. Potential enemies would already think there's something between you two. Trust me, Derek." Derek huffs a laugh at the phrase. "Giving into him wouldn't make it more dangerous than it is already. Now the only question is, would you rather he slip away, or are you going to do something about this tango you two have before gets bored of it?"

Derek looks back to the bench, where Stiles's body rolling has slowed from those of Missy Elliot videos to sloppy movements as Boyd runs across the field.

"What are you doing?" Derek growls to Peter. The flash of red in his eyes does nothing to intimidate Peter.

"Helping my nephew remember what happiness is like. Here's a spoiler, Derek." Peter leans close to him. Derek tilts away to the side. "The affair doesn't last. Lolita ends up with someone else." Derek's lips curl into a snarl. "Are you gonna let that happen to someone who thinks of you as so much more than a means to safety?"

Stiles's attention goes from dancing to screaming, "COME ON, BOYD! YOU GOT IT! YEAH! YEAH, FUCK, BOYD, COME ON!"

"And for the love of god," Peter's voice is strained with an exasperated lift of his shoulders and look at the sky, "decide soon. If I have to deal with any more self-inflicted man pain from you, I'm actually going to chuck this time. On you."

Around them, the crowd bursts into cheers. Derek can still hear Stiles's heart hammering among his shrieks of excitement.

Stiles closes his locker door, screeching when it's replaced by Derek.

"OH F-" Stiles slams his palm on the locker. He doesn't have to look at Derek to know he wears an amused smirk as Stiles takes a moment to breathe. "You need to stop fucking doing that, man," he says weakly, the words muffling from the hand he scrubs down his face. "One day someone's going to think you're creeping on high school boys and you'll get arrested. Again. I'm actually already concerned no one's tried to. The security at this school frankly needs a lot of work and I've been trying to think of how to tell my dad without mentioning I'm hanging out with a 24-year-old murder susp-"

"You looked like an idiot. More than the usual." Does he imagine that Derek's eyes flicker to his exposed torso?

"An idiot who got a whole crowd cheering on our team. We won, dude."

"And if college doesn't work out, you have a fall-back option the next time some washed-up boyband needs another member." Stiles pulls his shirt over his head.

"Wow, Derek. I'm surprised you even know they existed. What, did you DVR N*Sync's performances and shush your sister when she talked?"

"Is that hypothetical or from experience?"

"Well there was one time I was bored and belting out the Spice Girls. Scott walked in and still pulls out the video as blackmail." Derek's eyebrow raises, and the slight flash of teeth that accompanies it had Stiles's head tilting.

"Oh, my god. You're smiling. Not snarling, but, like, genuine enjoyment. That's actually a thing you can have?" Derek rolls his eyes. "There it is. Anyway, Danny's having an afterparty and your pack is going. And the twins, so you can do the whole 'I'm going to make sure my pack is safe' excuse. I'm sure Danny won't mind a visit from Miguel." Stiles gets a hard smack on his shoulder and laughs as he cradled it. "But really, dude. You've had a hard few months, and you died recently, so you could use a good unwinding."

"By crashing a sweaty gathering of horny high schoolers." Derek leans against a locker opposite Stiles's.

"What, like you have fun ever or any friends your own age?" He looks over curiously when Derek has no response. "I'm driving up Scott, Isaac and Boyd." Stiles fits an arm into his jacket. "But you can probably roll in with your sweet new soccer mom ride."

"Does Boyd know he's going?"

"Not yet. But my car's nicer than his bus, and he won the game. He deserves some fun." Stiles slings the strap of his lacrosse bag over his shoulder. Derek stepping alongside him to the parking lot, familiar and comfortable, gives Stiles an odd but pleasant feeling in his stomach. Kind of fuzzy. Like Derek, but with less fangs. "You really should come. Loosen up. Have fun." He puts a hand on Derek's shoulder as he leaves for his Jeep. Derek doesn't flinch.

Stiles is pouring himself cola in the kitchen, the line for alcohol too long, and his head already the smallest bit fuzzy, when he sees Derek in the hall. Maybe it's a bad thing that Stiles recognizes his ass before he does the leather jacket and back of his head, but anyone who says they haven't spent sufficient time admiring Derek's ass would fail a lie detector test so hard the needle would break off. Most likely because the thought of Derek's ass would have them masturbating furiously. Derek does that to people. Well, Stiles. Who fits into the category of people. Derek's searching the crowd when Stiles comes up behind him, hooting in excitement and cradling two red cups of cola.

Derek continues to look at different points in the crowd, and Stiles follows his eyes to see Isaac take a breath and run a hand through his hair before hurriedly lean into Scott to say something in his ear, as if Isaac's worried waiting another moment will rid him of his intentions. Scott's eyebrows raise, but when he looks at Isaac, his off-kilter smile seems to assure one out of Isaac, and Scott takes his hand and leads him closer to the wall where the crowd is thin. It seems that Scott's approval has given Isaac the boost to frame Scott's hips with his hands, and after Isaac's mouth moves again, Scott nods and the space between them decreases.

Isaac's meets Scott's smile with a light smirk before Stiles feels like a creep and looks to Derek instead. "Here, big bad." Stiles extends the drink to Derek. Derek looks at it as if Stiles spiked it with wolfsbane, but he takes and sips it after Stiles juts it a little further toward him. The taste has Derek huffing and shaking his head, as if it's silly for him to drink soda instead of whatever he usually has, like rain water straight from the clouds. Or liquid pain. "I thought horny teenage gatherings aren't your thing."

"I wanted to make sure they're fine."

"Sure." Derek shoots him a look. Stiles gives a knowing grin back. "They're okay." He thumbs over his shoulder. "Boyd's playing poker in the dining room. The other players are treating him really well; I checked. People keep telling him he was great. I actually think he's making friends. God knows he deserves them." Derek nods, his expression fond when he sees Boyd smile in response to a pat on the back from a team member walking by.

Stiles turns away but does a doubletake when he spots them: Allison straddling Lydia on a loveseat pushed into a corner where the lights barely reach. Loveseats are usually the first to be occupied at parties, and Stiles doesn't have to see how they got it to feel the surge of pride at knowing that the two probably pulled another couple out with a threat and a smile. The two are whispering...or, trying to make it seem like they are; Allison is pulling Lydia's earlobe into her mouth. He gives himself a moment to take in the new development, nodding okay after a moment.

When he turns back, Derek is looking out at the lights on the makeshift living room dancefloor. The sight of Derek downing more soda, stoic body so out of place and uncomfortable, has Stiles laughing lightly.

"What?" Stiles shakes his head.

"Big bad alpha, reduced to drinking soda with a bunch of buzzed partying teenagers." Derek looks at him. "You just look kinda awkward." Derek's eyes bore into his, unamused. Stiles puffs up his chest slightly and meets him head-on. After it's gone on enough for the pair to get odd looks from people passing by, Derek clenches his jaw, turns his head away (does Stiles only imagine that he deflates a little?), sighs, leaving his unfinished drink on the table. Then he's shouldering his way to the front door.

"Hey, come on!" Stiles runs after him and grabs Derek's leather-clad arm, Derek walking on. "Come on, Derek." Derek has his hand on the door handle as Stiles wedges his body between it and Derek. "That was dickish. I'm sorry." Stiles runs a hand through his own hair. "I wasn't expecting you to come, but I still want you to stay and ease up a little and have some fun." Derek fixes him with a bitch face.

"With soda."

"Geez, man, the line for alcohol was long and you would've metabolized it too fast anyway," Stiles says exasperatedly, hands up in explanation, and then the front door is opening from outside. Stiles lets out an "ah!" and flails as he loses balance. Derek rolls his eyes and tugs Stiles toward him by the shirt. Stiles hears seams popping and makes an incredulous noise as he retrieves his shirt.

"Hey, man, that's-no, that's actually like 7 bucks at Target, so I really can't go pretentious dick on you." He smooths down his shirt. Derek is walking back to the hallway when he looks up. Stiles considers it a victory that Derek hasn't let Stiles smear himself against a wall while Derek laughs and leaves. "Did they have parties when you were in high school?" Stiles asks, catching up to him.

Derek snorts. "No, just stone tablets." The humor is unexpected, and Stiles finds himself barking a laugh.

"There you go, Derek," Stiles praises for the joke. "Loosening."

The air between them is easier nowadays, familiarity arising and animosity depleting from the summer they spent together poring over rescue and battle plans. It's come to the point where Stiles is only a little fidgety staying at Derek's loft when just Peter is there, and he only half expects Peter to claw his throat out in boredom. But still, here Derek is out of his element, so Stiles is even more impressed with his active effort to lighten the situation when he could easily break Stiles's arm and make a getaway in that soccer mom car. (Maybe that's been the plan all along, Stiles humors himself. Whoever sees a brooding murder suspect driving a minivan would sooner laugh themselves until they choked and crashed than start a high-speed chase.) Though if he's learned anything about Derek from the beginning of summer up till now, it's that Derek is mostly empty threats when it comes to Stiles. It's disturbing how easily they roll off him now.

"Hey, Stiles." Stiles turns to the voice and his mind fuzzes over a little more. Johnny from Econ, who's sat in front of him and asked Stiles if he had a pen. It's probably embarrassing how well Stiles remembers that encounter. He's 42.7% sure Johnny just likes seeing how many people he can get to wank to him; it's in the way his voice is too low to not be deliberate, the way he gets closer than necessary when talking to you, how he sometimes bites his lip when he's smiling at you, and the smirk it morphs into when he turns back to his work after the victim looks too long at his mouth. Stiles admits that he might be one of them, if he didn't have a lifetime of wank material from being in the presence of the wolves and humans. How all of the pack members are so hot, he doesn't know. Questioning it is like questioning why a free pizza shows up at your door. You just take it as it is and enjoy every taste.

"Oh, hey, Johnny."

"Loved what you did at the game, man." Johnny playfully bumps one of Stiles's shoulders with his fist. "That was sick." The smile he gives is radiating. Stiles sputters for a moment before managing to get out, "Thanks."

"How do you think Lita's doing with the music?"

"She's great. Yeah, I can see why she's so intense with the headphones." Johnny nods and takes a drink.

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, listen, uh, do you want to dance?"

"Me? You're asking Stiles to dance?"

"Unless you've changed your name in the past few hours. Then I'd like to dance with whoever you are now." Stiles vaguely realizes he is gaping. "Unless you're not into guys. Or you're already with someone else." Johnny's eyes stray past Stiles to give an uneasy smile behind him. He doesn't know how to say he invited Derek because part of him just wanted to be near the werewolf more.

Johnny's still standing, awkward in Stiles's lack of answer, and his eyes are still flickering up to where Derek is. Who he thinks Stiles came with. Implying that Stiles and Derek are together. As in dating. And kissing. Which sometimes happens to lead to fucking. The images blow a fuse in Stiles's brain.

"Oh. I'm not..." Stiles trails off, mind too jumbled to form a proper reply. His hands twirl nonsensically around each other as he searches for words. Why isn't Derek isn't denying it? Stiles doesn't let himself hope that it's because Derek wants Johnny to think they're together, counter-arguing that it's probably just because Derek likes Stiles to squirm.

"I thought you were bi, but I think I was wrong." Johnny laughs lightly and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"No! I mean, I like guys. Too." Stiles has only said it aloud once-to Scott, and he isn't even sure if Scott's mumbled "that's cool, dude" was from a guy lucid enough to register the confession or the one of a sleep mumbler. So Stiles feels a little woozy saying it out in the open in front of Derek.

"Oh, so you're...Okay, cool. I would've been okay with you just saying no, you know. Sorry for the come-on." Johnny smiles kindly and murmurs secretly to Stiles, "snagged yourself a good one" before he's gone and Stiles makes a dying whale noise as he realizes that Derek heard the comment. Derek's smirk is unbearable; his shaking shoulders and snort are even worse.

"Shut up, Fido," Stiles shoots back. Gratefulness for the dark sets in as heat crawls up his cheeks. Just for something to do, he downs his soda like a shot and slams it on the counter. Stickiness dribbles down his chin and neck. He bats at it aggressively with a sleeve. "It's not like anyone's asking you."

"There's not a single person I can dance with without some parent filing a lawsuit."

"Or you just give off that murderer vibe and they're smart enough to stay away." If there was any tension left in Derek, it's migrated to Stiles now. Derek's resting his elbows on the counter behind him.

"Your insults hold a lot less leverage than they would if I had actually murdered someone."

"Technicalities." Stiles mimics Derek's pose on the counter. Eventually, a series of energetic songs vibrate the walls and Stiles grows restless again. His arms and hips move to the music; he earns several "yeah-hah!"s and momentary dance partners that laugh delightedly at him shoulder rolling it out to the beat before they dance their way back to their friends.

"What are you doing?"

"Enjoying myself. Remember that concept? Seriously, man. You still look kind of stiff. Are you a dancer?"

"I'm more of a ballet guy, to be honest."

"Oh, my god. There's another." Stiles claps Derek on the back, his brain helpfully concocting the image of Derek in tights and doing pirouettes. He certainly has the muscles for it, and Stiles imagines they'd flex when he did twirls. But then that quickly morphs into an image of Derek in lace panties and stockings with garters, letting Stiles straddle him and run his hands up the smooth nylon. Stiles feels his mouth water when he thinks of swallowing Derek's moans. Stiles's stomach and other things feel kind of unsettled, so he gives his head a shake to rid himself of the thoughts. It doesn't help. He crosses a leg over the other to hide it. "Really, though. You look kind of stiff. Are you sure you don't want to dance?"

"With who?"

"I don't know. Johnny." A girl from the swim team walks past them. "Sandy." Derek looks wholly unimpressed. Stiles, hoping for it to sound humorous rather than betray the desire he has, throws in, "Me."

"You."

"Yeah." He shrugs. He goes for casual and off-hand, but it comes off kind of scratchy and Derek can probably discern that the jumps in his heart aren't from dancing. He wills himself not to fidget under Derek's silent scrutiny and meets the amber eyes head-on. Alphas like challenges, don't they?

"Okay."

"Okay?" Derek shrugs and nods, looking normal and easy-going and it's kind of freaking Stiles the fuck out. "Okay, dude, your newfound willingness to partay" (he raises the roof for emphasis) "is great, but I'm kinda buzzed and it's making it even harder to tell if you're really just planning to give me a swirley."

"No. Not if you show me what other abominations you have for dance moves." Eyes narrowed, Stiles inspects Derek's face for any signs of punking. The DJ-Lita, who walks around school with Beatz headphones permanently attached to her head-starts up a song that sounds fairly decent, considering it's the beginning and Stiles is already feeling the beat. But really, Derek saying yes is filling Stiles with a stupid euphoria and people banging trash cans would sound like Ode to Joy right about now.

Stiles laughs in astonishment. "Come on, wolfie." Stiles knows the grin he shoots over his shoulder is probably akin to Dopey's, but he isn't fooling himself in attributing it to alcohol when he pulls Derek by the wrist without a second thought, nor can he tell himself it's alcohol that compels Derek to let him.

The spot they take is near the middle. Because the concentration of undulating crowd forces them together. Stiles is just glad that he has alcohol as an excuse to fall back on for any of his stupidity. Stupidity is going to happen. He can feel it in his balls.

"Did the bass drop when you were in high school?" Stiles asks once they've settled and Derek's easing into dancing with toned-down movements of his body.

"No, they dropped in middle school."

"What?" His heart stutters in realization. "No, I-Oh, god." Stiles leans into Derek's ear. "The bass. I said 'bass'!"

"I know." Derek's grin is shit-eating. Of course he would have heard with his ears.

"You're a fucking dick; you know that?" Stiles slumps against Derek's chest, his head burrowing into a shoulder, and Derek's chuckle resonates in his ear. As the music builds again, he feels Derek's unusually warm hands slide over his waist. Stiles likes to think he doesn't purr into Derek's skin in turn. He brings his arms around Derek's shoulders. Purely to ward away lawsuits for causing any blindness.

"Has dancing changed since-"

"You make it sound like I should have lost my leg in 'Nam." Stiles snorts.

It's not long before the song's build-up leaves Stiles with an unreasonable frustration, causing a restlessness in his being down to his blood, and he wishes the bass would get on with it and drop. Derek's woodsy cologne fills his senses. It's the scent of Derek that reminds him that this is the closest they've been without the urgency of an attack.

The bass drops, Derek pulls him closer, and their hips slot together.

Stiles is sure Derek can hear his gasp, feel how eagerly Stiles adjusts to the closeness. Maybe he should be humiliated by how much he likes this, but god, the bass is flowing through his veins and he's virgin as fuck and he really can't help it if the guy of his wet dreams is pressing and moving against him or that their clothes are so thin a barrier between them.

He was already slightly hard from the fantasy courtesy of his mind. This only makes it worse, and Derek can feel it. Stiles knows pulling his hips back will do nothing; Derek can smell it on him. And then it's like he smells Stiles's nerves, because he pulls Stiles in closer, hands sliding lower onto his hip bones, and Stiles meets Derek's eyes wide-eyed when Derek nudges his own arousal against Stiles's hip. Then Derek is murmuring, "It's fine," into his ear, and Stiles shudders at the wet heat against his neck and decides fuck it. He slides a hand into Derek's hair and moves against Derek with as much enthusiasm as hours ago at the game.

Stiles is content enough with just that. Blissful, even, so he's not bothered when they make it through several songs just moving against each other, even though Stiles has to pull back and slow down a few times so as to not have to to inexplicably come back in his lacrosse shorts. But he'd be out of his mind to complain when Derek seems to want more.

"You're a moronic fucking tease. You know that?" Derek's breath hits his ear. Stiles shudders and latches onto Derek's hair to pull him closer. "Moving like that. Had to stand there half hard." Stiles goes blank. "Thought of everything to control it, but you wouldn't stop moving like a fucking porn star." Stiles's swallows his own nervous laugh and it comes out as a choking sound. "Couldn't stop thinking of you, riding me. Still can't." Stiles gulps and breathes in deeply.

"Fuck," he whispers.

"I didn't know how I'd keep down the wolf next time you'd come to the loft, after I've how much I've thought of you arching your back beneath me, the sounds you'd make, how tight you'd be." Stiles gasps. "Your body taking me in greedily, how you'd sound begging for me to let you come."

"Oh, god." Stiles's hands are shaking on Derek's neck and hair. Derek's breath is hitting his neck in harsh bursts, and it fills him with pride-that even Derek is affected, that it was Stiles who did that to Derek. "I've-" Stiles closes his eyes and buries his head into the side of Derek's neck. His voice is low, reserved for Derek. "I think about you when I finger myself." Stiles squeezes his eyes shut tighter as Derek stiffens. This is it. Derek will bark a laugh in his face and go home to tell Cora he won a bet they made.

Instead, Derek resumes dancing. His fingers lift up Stiles's shirt and dig into his flesh. "Yeah?" Derek encourages.

"Yeah."

"What else?" Derek urges, and then his mouth is sucking just under his ear. Stiles is too caught off guard to contain his whine.

"I-I always end up frustrated at how little I can reach. I've thought about how much better your fingers would feel, how much I want you stretching me out..." Stiles hesitates. "...how much I want your tongue in me, opening me up, making me moan and shake until I can't breathe." He huffs another nervous laugh. "The first time I thought about it was the hardest I've ever come." The fact that they haven't even kissed would make Stiles laugh more if he could do it without choking, but it figures that they can't even be normal enough to go in order.

It's a wonder he can even breathe now with Derek sucking down a tendon on his neck. "And now I'm having a really hard time deciding if I want you to keep doing that or if I want to kiss you." Derek decides for him by swallowing his gasp. Derek takes his mouth greedily, pulling Stiles's hair to tilt his head how he wants it. The first slide of their tongues has Stiles groaning with the flush of heat it brings down to his groin. The crowd is too focused on their own dance partners, and Stiles is too high on the endorphins coursing through him to feel shameful when he brings one of his hands between them to cup Derek though his jeans. His collarbone vibrates with Derek's growl.

"Scott, is Stiles so drunk that he's making out with his cousin?"

"What cousin?" Danny nods in their direction. Scott follows with his eyes and promptly chokes on his drink. Partly concealed by other teens, Stiles is pressed against the wall, his legs in a death grip around Derek's hips, Derek holding him in place by his ass. "Derek?" Panic swirls in Scott's stomach. He lurches forward with full intent to pry Derek off. Isaac's hand holds him back.

"Stiles is fine," Isaac assures. "Listen." Scott tunes in as Derek mouths at Stiles's jugular, hearing his best friend's breathless murmurs of, "Oh, holy god." Stiles is baring his neck, and Scott wonders briefly if Stiles knows what that means for wolves. Scott feels warmer when he realizes that, even with the clearly limited space, Stiles's hips are determinedly bucking up against Derek, though Derek's body mostly hides the action. His fingers in a death grip on Derek's hair, shamelessly pressing Derek's mouth harder against him, Stiles continues: "Not that I haven't just discovered I have an exhibitionism kink, but I'd prefer-" Scott's blush deepens at Stiles's drawn-out moan. "-n-ah-not to be deflowered in front of people I have to face on Monday."

"Cora's at the loft." Stiles's mouth falls open with a shallow, shuddering breath as Derek's teeth sink into his skin.

"Oh, my god. I'll murder you if you make me come in my pants right now." Scott notes that Stiles, thoroughly debauched and too enthusiastic about rutting into Derek, won't follow up on his threat. "Any rooms here?"

"All occupied." Stiles groans.

"My house," he pants. "My dad's on duty, and I want to be out of here before he busts the place." Derek lowers Stiles's legs to the ground and captures Stiles's mouth again. Stiles is left dazed lifting up when Derek pulls away and whines when Derek doesn't let him press their lips together. Stiles settles for resting his head against the wall to catch his breath.

Scott tunes out after Derek asks for Stiles's keys, finding it highly inappropriate that he just basically watched live porn of his best friend (and didn't mind a bit), and gives Isaac an incredulous look. Isaac nods. I know, he seems to say, and his eyes are on Scott's mouth with a hunger that warms Scott's abdomen.

"Stiles said his name was Miguel," Danny says with a confused squint. Isaac shakes his head. "No. He was definitely just messing with you." Ethan appears at Danny's side with two cups; Danny's tension hits Scott in the face. Right. The only times Danny's seen Ethan with Isaac, Isaac's fist was in Ethan's face. Ethan gives Isaac and Scott an acknowledging nod. They return it. Relaxation sets into Danny as Ethan's thumb rubs circles into his hip.

Derek calls Scott's name. When he turns, Stiles is grasping Derek's hand and pulling him along as they move through the crowd, as if he thinks Derek is perfectly content to stay alone and hard on the dance floor. Derek launches the key to the Toyota at Scott. "You scratch it," he warns, "you lick my floors clean."

Scott's hearing would tell him that Derek and Stiles don't wait until they reach the house, or even the Jeep, but by then, he's too enraptured by soft curls in his hands and the warm persistence of Isaac's tongue to notice.


End file.
